We have skincare routines, video doorbells, and entire apps for avoiding human contact…

and yet — we still give each other hickies.

Yes. Bruises.

With our mouths.

But why?

Why do otherwise rational people suction each other’s necks like emotionally charged vacuum cleaners?

Why, in the golden age of communication, do we still leave purple-brown souvenirs of desire in highly visible, extremely inconvenient places?

Let’s investigate.

---

🕵🏾‍♀️ Theory 1: The “I Was Here” Badge

This is the human equivalent of licking a doughnut so no one else eats it.

It’s not subtle. It’s not even hygienic.

But it gets the message across: “I did this. It was intense. Good luck with your scarf budget.”

---

😮‍💨 Theory 2: Your Sounds Are the Real MVP

You make one little noise — a moan, a breathy gasp, maybe a whisper of “don’t stop” —

and they immediately respond with

Apparently, your body became a motivational speaker mid-makeout.

---

🧃 Theory 3: The Juice Box Effect

Some people just… don’t know how to stop.

They don’t kiss — they latch.

You went in for soft affection.

They went in like they were trying to extract nectar from your soul.

This isn’t passion.

This is oral overcommitment.

---

🐾 Theory 4: Cute Little Bite-Sized Possession

It’s not possessiveness exactly…

Just a polite, slightly primal way of saying: “Mine.”

Like a gentle growl. But in love language.

---

🤡 Theory 5: Chaos. Just… Chaos.

No one plans to walk around looking like they lost a battle with a vampire in heat.

But passion is messy.

Hormones are dumb.

And sometimes, someone’s lower brainstem whispers:

And that’s how you end up Googling “how long do hickies last” at 2:17am

with a cold spoon pressed to your neck

and a hoodie zipped to your ears.

---

🩸 Final Conclusion:

A hickey is a collaboration between:

One person’s enthusiastic mouth

Another person’s unsuspecting blood vessels

And a temporary loss of self-control

Is it necessary? No.

Is it mature? Also no.

Do we keep doing it?

Because humans are soft animals

with bitey tendencies

and a desperate need to be remembered

in purplish ovals.

They say men and women can be friends.

Close, even. Like siblings.

Shared jokes, inside language, ride-or-die energy.

And sometimes—rarely—it’s true.

But most of us have learned to scan the fine print.

To ask, silently:

“How long until you want something?”

“What will you do when I say no?”

“Was it ever real?”

Because we’ve seen it before.

The slow lean-in from “you’re like a sister”

to “I’ve always had feelings”

to “I just thought you knew.”

As if warmth was an IOU.

As if presence meant promise.

So we tighten our smiles.

Offer just enough laughter to seem open,

just enough distance to stay safe.

We calculate:

Can I be my whole self around him?

Or must I shrink into something uninviting?

Wear friendship like armor

instead of invitation?

The truth is,

I want to believe in platonic men.

Men who don’t hover.

Men who don’t wait.

Men who don’t keep tally of all the ways they’ve “been there”

so they can cash in when we’re soft or tired or lonely.

I want to believe in friendships

where my body isn’t a silent character in every scene.

Where I am not the maybe.

The backup plan.

The understudy to a romance that never began.

Call me sister,

but mean it with your eyes.

Mean it when I wear sweatpants.

Mean it when I cry over someone else.

Mean it when I love you,

but not like that.

Until then—

you are brother,

until proven otherwise.

I’ve been thinking…

kissing is objectively strange.

Two people press their face-holes together,

close their eyes like they’re praying,

and pretend swapping spit is the height of romance.

And somehow—somehow—this became normal?

Like, who started this?

Who was the trailblazing romantic that looked at another human and thought:

“Yeah. Let me gently mash my lips into theirs until something stirs.”

And let’s talk about tongues.

What kind of freak was like:

“This is good, but what if we made it slippery and complicated?”

No, seriously—

I just want to talk.

Because somewhere in history,

two awkward, probably unwashed people

accidentally invented this social contract

where lips and saliva mean affection.

And the rest of us?

We just nodded and said,

“Sure. Sign me up.”

Now we’re all out here

judging chemistry by how well

someone rotates their mouth parts.

Imagine being the first person

to close your eyes while kissing—

Did the other person think they died?

And don’t get me started on post-kiss eye contact.

Do I look at you like I love you?

Like I want more?

Like I’m proud of us?

No one knows the rules.

But we do it anyway—

over and over—

because somebody started it

and we never asked enough questions.

So here I am.

Participating.

Performing mouth ballet

because someone before me

thought this was the most efficient way

to say I like you.

Who invented kissing…

and why am I involved?

_________

What’s the most bizarre social norm you’ve never understood?

people would respond in kind.

Turns out, people don’t respond to what you said.

They respond to whatever they felt like hearing.

You ask a group:

“What stood out to you from this week’s reading?”

and somehow, you get

a side story about someone’s neighbor,

a 10-minute tangent about avocados,

and a tearful memory from the 90s.

People just sprint away from the actual question

and then stare at you like you’re the weird one

when you say:

“...That’s not what I asked.”

So eventually, someone tried to fix it.

Made the question more “open,” more “accommodating.”

Added options: “...about the main theme, a character, or anything else.”

And boom—suddenly it’s back to:

“Page 34 really spoke to me.”

Like we didn’t just survive verbal jazz improv for three weeks straight.

I sat there thinking—what kind of logic is this?!

When the question was specific, they improvised.

When it got vague, they snapped to attention.

Are we dealing with humans or reverse psychology experiments?

And then I realized—

It’s not stupidity.

It’s group behavior.

Give most people too much clarity,

and they’ll look for a side door.

Give them vagueness with a clipboard vibe,

and they’ll follow the imaginary rules.

This is why I no longer argue with interpretation.

If I say something and you decide to rewrite it in your head—

That’s between you and your imagination.

I’m not chasing your feelings around the room

like they’re loose chickens.

I’ve made peace with this strange species we live among.

But please don’t tell me I need to learn how to communicate.

I’ve been speaking clearly this whole time.

Y’all just keep bringing riddles to a conversation.

For the search bar warriors:

clear communication, group behavior, why people misunderstand, miscommunication humor, conversation breakdowns, funny social commentary, group discussion chaos, how people interpret, speaking clearly, communication struggles, modern communication, emotional responses, clarity vs vagueness, human interaction quirks, comedic essays, misunderstood questions, social norms humor, personal reflections on group talk, late night thoughts, funny observation post